


so I grabbed you, baby, like a wild pitch

by janie_tangerine



Series: jbweek 2018 [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AT THE CONDO ASSEMBLY!, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Crack Treated Seriously, Don't Try This At Home, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Meetings, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Love at First Sight, Roof Sex, accidental alliances through hating other ppl 101, how to piss of your stupid neighbors 101, there isn't even a tag for that fuck's sake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Brienne, I don’t usually lie and let me tell you, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”“And are you planning to do anything about it or are you just standing here for fun?”“I don’t know,” he says, letting his most charming grin appear on his mouth, “I fully support the idea of making sure they know exactly how much I’m bothered. And if it wasn’t clear, if you jumped me right the hell now while full of righteous tenants’s meeting rage, I wouldn’t say no.”or: in which Jaime and Brienne both hate the tenants's meeting at their building, until they don't.





	so I grabbed you, baby, like a wild pitch

**Author's Note:**

> HI it's jbweek day three and... today's prompt was _crone_. I have absolutely no excuse for this or how I approached it but after yesterday I figured crack was needed.
> 
> Now: this fic is 100% based on *my* personal experience at such meetings *and* a few things that happened in buildings where people I know live. If you're wondering whether any of this is fictional, the only part that is would be the sex on the roof, but honest I conceived this the last time I was in such a setting and a certain person couldn't shut up and I superimposed Selyse on her, sorry not sorry. Have the crack porn of the day before I come back with more srs stuff tomorrow.
> 
> And as usual: they belong to GRRM, I own absolutely nothing NOT EVEN THE CONDO DRAMAS because those are lifted from rl and the title is from Bruce Springsteen for no one's surprise. I shall now leave this here and saunter vaguely downwards all over again /o\

So: Jaime does _not_ regret leaving the family manor.

Absolutely fucking _not_.

He thinks he has so many bad memories attached to that place he could drown in them, and man, hasn’t it been great to live in his own damned flat, without people barging in at any moment and virtually having no privacy at all because _everyone_ had a key to his damned room, and hasn’t it been even _better_ to just have his house as full of as much junk as he wants, _damn it_. Especially when his father would flip if his and Cersei’s room was anything but spotless and squeaky clean and tidy _until they were well into their fucking teens_.

Too bad that since he went for the total opposite of what he grew up with, as in, he bought a blessedly small three-rooms apartment in a shared building with some thirty other tenants, and he _owns_ it, he has to go to the _fucking_ tenants’s meeting, and _those_ are probably the only three hours every three months or so where he misses the family manor.

And it’s not even that it’s a drag — if it only was a drag, it’d be a necessary evil.

It’s that it would be a two-hours long drag _if_ the other people in it weren’t such fucking pains in the arse.

They have _five_ things they have to discuss today.

They’re at the _second_. And it’s been _one hour and a half_ , and they barely touched the main topic, as in, the fact that a few people haven’t paid their quota and have he doesn’t even remember how much fucking debt — he barely glanced at the financial report for the year and got a headache just reading all that crap, he just checked whether his own was accurate or not. Which it was, because their manager, Willas Tyrell, is actually good even if he’s not really that great at commanding a room.

Too fucking bad.

“And I would like to point out that it’s a travesty that the porter isn’t on call at two in the afternoon!”

“Mr. Greyjoy, it’s not the point _for now_ , you can express your considerations when we get to number five, as in, _various other matters not previously addressed_ , thank you.”

Jaime has a top five of The Worst People In This Damned Building.

Number five is Victarion Greyjoy, as in, the not so respectable gentleman that apparently has decided that their poor porter has to be on duty _all the damned time_ including the night _and_ lunchtime and keeps on complaining about it _at every single meeting_.

Hell, at the beginning he thought Roose Bolton was creepy, but that specific guy at least just sits at the bottom of the room, only votes yes or no, apologizes for his kid kicking other people’s pets and gives them money to keep their mouth shut about it and pay for the veterinarian, but that’s about it. If anything he doesn’t _talk._ Which Jaime can appreciate a lot right now.

At _least_ it seems like now they moved on from whether they should change the building’s door (thankfully everyone voted no) to _should we hire a gardener for the common lawn_ , which according to Jaime is a damned waste of money because Davos Seaworth, the porter, does an excellent job on his own.

“To be honest, we should just do away with the porter.”

Number four is Randyll Tarly, as in, a guy that Jaime tries to avoid all the damned time because he reminds him of his father way too much, especially given the shit way he treats his poor firstborn kid who is actually very smart and very sweet and only has the fault of not being into going to the gym, and who has been trying to get the porter fired for _months_ because he doesn’t want to spend the extra money.

 _Of course_ , the entire racket starts again, starting with number three, as in, Lothar Frey, some asshole bachelor who lives on the third floor, never has anything sensed to propose and always, _always_ spends the meetings trying to make people argue some more.

Then again —

“And anyway, Mr. Tarly is right, it’s a waste of money.”

Right. Number two, Barbrey Dustin, is another arse who if you ask Jaime _really_ needs to get over her high school boyfriend she can’t shut up about _every_ time you strike a conversation with her and who also doesn’t want to spend a dime for the common good and has issues with the porter for the same dumb classist reasons everyone else with her same problems has, and she’s fucking insufferable and he just wants her to shut up, and she’d be the worst, if not for —

“I agree, and anyway, _how_ did a respectable place such as this end up hiring an ex con out of _everyone_ we could hire?”

Jaime really, _really_ fucking hates Number One.

Selyse Florent is the kind of person he really would rather avoid if he could, _always_ has to speak in riddles or insulting someone while she tries to do it not _obviously_ , and she _always_ comes to these meetings with a long bullet list of _complaints_ that she brings up just for the sake of complaining, and on top of that she hates Seaworth because he’s friends with her ex-husband who, _wisely_ , has delegated someone else to vote in his place and has skipped this shit show.

Never mind that she tends to be all smiles and shit around him because of his surname and he cut ties with his father and his sister and half of the Lannister circus for a whole lot of good fucking reasons.

“Mrs. Florent,” Willas starts again, poor sod, “the point is _the garden_ , not whether we have to keep him or not. You can bring it up at the next meeting, _if_ you warn me first. The point is whether we want to hire the gardener or if we stick with him doing it _for free_ , he doesn’t get any extra money for that.”

“Excuse me,” comes from the back, and —

Oh.

That’s the new tenant — she moved in maybe six months ago, but this is the first time she speaks even if it’s her third meeting. Brienne Tarth, if Jaime isn’t wrong — she lives below him, he thinks, and they said hi and good evening while meeting each other on the stairs, but he never went beyond saying that and whatnot because she’s always in a hurry and these last six months he’s had too many deadlines for his tastes, and she’s being… very polite, actually?

Well, at least it’ll be a distraction from this specific shitshow.

“Miss Tarth,” Tyrell says, “please.”

“I don’t know why this is even a point on the list,” she says, sounding always calm and polite but with a slight touch of irritation. “The garden isn’t _really_ that big, Mr. Seaworth is doing an admirable job of keeping it alive, and I don’t see why we should spend money for someone else to do it. And I honestly don’t know why everyone here is even bringing up whether he should stay or not — I’ve been here six months and I saved an unholy amount of money because when my shower broke down or I had reparations I couldn’t do myself he came for free. _During the lunch break_. For one, he always says hi and goodbye when you come in or go out, which is more than I could say for half of this room.”

 _Savage_ , Jaime thinks. He likes it, to be entirely honest.

“And I’m aware he does that kind of small jobs for everyone around here. Do you really think that you would save money by paying for the electrician or plumber every time? Really? And fine, he’s an ex-con, but _he_ told me upfront, twice it was because they arrested him at demonstrations and the third was because they caught him stealing food from a supermarket when he was twenty-something during the miners’s strike. Are we _really_ spending twenty minutes discussing it as if he was some kind of serial killer? I vote that we just keep him and move on to the _actual_ important point, as in, _number four,_ which is, _the fact that one tenant_ owes a considerable amount of money to the building administration. Thank you,” she mumbles, before sitting down again in all her height and bulk, and — _holy fuck_. Jaime can see the harpies getting ready to complain, but that was a magnificent takedown and he just wishes she got tired of this bullshit long before, so he raises his hand.

“Miss Tarth raises excellent points,” he says, “I vote whatever she just said.”

And thing is — it’s not like he has any hold on the dumbest people in here, but most of the others are entirely in the mood to finish this mess and go home, so they go with them and they win that motion.

He looks at Brienne Tarth and she sends him such a grateful stare that for one moment he feels flooded, people don’t usually look at him as if he’s some kind of gift from the heavens, and then he breathes in.

It’s time for the bloody point four.

“Thank you,” Willas says. “So, we have point four. As Miss Tarth said, we sadly have four tenants who haven’t paid their share, and of course none of them are here. _However_ , three of them have minimal debts that they can solve with the next installment, they were obviously out of having forgotten a few payments here and there. Mr. Baelish from apartment twenty-seven, though, by now has an amount that you can see amounts to about six thousand pounds, and Mrs. Florent, I read the letter he sent through you, but I do think that tasking you to come here and champion his case won’t be enough at this point.”

“Oh, he’s entirely right to!” Selyse protests. “This building is run very unprofessionally, and the one time he wanted to talk to you were exceedingly rude to him, and if one doesn’t agree with how this place is run then they are wholly in the right.

“Mrs. Florent —” The poor bastard starts.

“Fair point,” Tarly butts in, “if we have to pay for sub-par administrating, _why_ should we?”

The _hell_? Tyrell wouldn’t be _rude_ to a fly and if Jaime remembers wrong, that time they were discussing Baelish was basically insinuating he couldn’t do his job and that the financial report was unreadable — and it _wasn’t_ , and are these people honestly defending that asshole when he hasn’t paid his share _this_ long? Jesus Christ, _seriously_? Jaime is about to stand up and tell them that he’s out, except that —

“Oh, I can’t believe this,” Brienne Tarth says, and then she shakes her head and _stands up_ in all her one meter and ninety-something all over again, looking like she’s _done_ , and —

“Are you all bloody serious?” She _shouts_ , and _that_ shuts up half of the room. “You’re — you’re all fucking unbelievable, excuse me the language! I mean, _I_ haven’t missed a payment since I came here and I actually paid off a debt left by the previous owner who assured me they had everything straight and then disappeared from the face of the planet, everyone in this damned meeting paid including those three who probably just forgot one installment, and then I have to handwave that this guy has _that_ much of a debt when during the last meeting he was making up supposed damage to his flat that the building should pay cutting it from his debt… so that _we_ would handwave it and he wouldn’t have to pay? _Seriously_? And then you all have the gall to complain about the porter’s salary? Can you fucking hear yourself?”

“Miss,” Selyse starts, “I will accept no such language from —”

Oh, fuck that.

Jaime also stands up. “She’s right,” he says, and _that_ shuts that arse up. _Good_. “I’ve been here two years, you’ve been complaining about the _same_ stuff since then, Baelish definitely has no water infiltrations in his floor and I’d know because I live _under_ his house, I can see the state of his balcony, and the fact that _he_ gets to deflect because you’re all in the team wanting to fire poor Seaworth so you handwave it… is fucking ridiculous. She has all the rights to go for _such language_ because you all _honestly_ are out of line and for all that the only thing I can complain about is that those three dogs belonging to Mr. Targaryen’s sister keep on barking _all fucking night long_ —”

“Dany’s dogs _don’t_ —” The guy, Viserys, starts, but Jaime raises a hand and he stops at once.

“They _do_ , you live on the other side of my corridor. _Anyway,_ I’d rather have those fucking dogs barking for one month rather than listening to even ten more seconds of this drivel.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Brienne says, looking at him like she could weep for having found an ally. “And anyway, you’re complaining about Mr. Tyrell’s work, but I’m an accountant and his reports are honestly outstanding and very clear — just say you want to argue for the sake of it and go, but if that’s the point, _can’t you just join some debate club_ and keep it out of here? It’s eleven twenty and we started at _eight_ PM, not all of us live off our ex husband’s support money,” she spits at Selyse, and _damn_ , she must be pissed off, but — Jaime can’t help thinking that she’s _hot_ as she does, with all that righteous rage coming off _those_ shoulders and _those_ legs, and the fact that Selyse goes immediately red in the face just makes it even better.

“Miss, this is _unacceptable_ and I won’t stand —”

“Selyse, can it.” Oh, _thank fuck_ , that was Brynden Tully, as in, one of the five _decent_ people living in this dump (not counting Brienne) or at least one of the five Jaime talks to somewhat regularly. “She’s right about pretty much all of it and since you and Stannis separated you’ve been even more of a viper than usual. And you were fairly miserable before and it’s _late_ and I’d like to go back home, thank you.”

“Says _you_ , Mr. Tully,” Tarly says, “and given that it’s rich from _you_ to talk about separations —”

“ _Randyll_ , I can assure you I’m tying the damned knot the moment that asshole _you_ voted for makes it legal.”

 _Oh, shit_ , now they’re complaining because the guy is in a stable relationship with another guy and they’re raising a kid together who came with the aforementioned other guy who’s not the biological father as far as Jaime knows and they’re all living together, and of course half of these people vote Tory.

At least when it comes to being backwards they’re exactly the same as his father.

“I should hope it’s never,” Tarly replies.

Lothar Frey says something to stir this in an even _worse_ direction and Jaime just wants to die inside.

“I hate this,” Brienne says under her breath.

“I hate most of them,” Jaime whispers back, and she half-smiles at him.

“See, they’re banding up!” Selyse immediately screams, Barbrey backing her, and —

Jaime is about to tell her to can it.

“We never even talked before tonight,” Brienne says, “and _maybe_ if we agree this much you should ask yourself _why_ we did it, _maybe_. Anyway, it’s late, I’m tired, point five is various and eventual issues, so as far as I’m concerned, you should issue an injunction against Baelish and that’s my vote. And now I’m leaving because if I stay here for ten seconds longer I’m going to punch someone,” she says, and heads out slamming the door.

Jaime doesn’t know if he should stay here and see how it proceeds or run after her and inform her of how exactly he feels hot and bothered thanks to that outburst, but — oh, fuck it.

“You know what,” he says, “I agree with her. And I’m tired, too, so have fun discussing this because I’m also out. Count my vote for the injunction.” He says, and takes care to slam the door as well as he leaves.

Wow.

That felt _good_.

But he has something more important to do now.

“Hey, wait a moment!” He calls after Brienne, who’s going down the stairs already. She stops, sighing in relief when she notices it’s him. She stops and waits in the middle of the staircase, looking like she’s just run a damned marathon and like she just wants to punch the wall.

“Great show in there,” he says, “I’m impressed.”

“ _What_?” She asks. “Are you kidding me? Because —”

“Please, I had been waiting for someone to put that crone in her place since I came to live here, and it’s been two years. She was livid when I left.”

She deflates a little, even if not _that_ much. “I didn’t mean to, but — she just — made me angry,” she says, shrugging. “And I hate when people just _band up_ to defend assholes or twist the truth, you know.”

“Fair, I hate that, too. And you know what, that was the hottest thing I’ve seen in my entire life, or at least the last half of it.”

“Wait, _hot_?”

“The way you shut them up? Magnificent,” he winks. “Honestly, I think I ran out also because of how turned on I was.”

She glances down at his jeans.

Then she looks back up at him with her lips parted. “ _Seriously_?”

“ _Brienne_ , I don’t usually lie and let me tell you, that was the _hottest_ thing I’ve ever seen.”

“And are you planning to do anything about it or are you just standing here for fun?”

“I don’t know,” he says, letting his most charming grin appear on his mouth, “I _fully_ support the idea of making sure _they_ know exactly how much I’m bothered. And if it wasn’t clear, if you jumped me right the hell now while full of righteous tenants’s meeting rage, I wouldn’t say no.”

She _stares_ at him some more.

Then her pretty blue eyes turn a slightly darker shade of blue, even if she’s obviously still halfway embarrassed.

“Fuck,” she says, “you’re _serious_. Oh my — you’re _serious_ , I can’t believe —”

“So,” he keeps on, “what will it be? My place, your place, _here_? I’d be down with the roof, to be honest. Possibly _over_ the room where they’re holding the meeting.”

“You know what,” she says, “I could go for the roof. It’s hot outside, after all.” She’s speaking like she’s trying this out for the first time, but she’s also smiling back tentatively, and he grins hard enough it hurts.

“Well, what are you waiting for, then?”

——

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says as she slams him against the door leading to the stairs that go below the roof, her hands grabbing at his thighs and lifting him up so effortlessly he’s even more turned on just by _that_ , “how did you read my mind?”

“You said —” She answers, “that you wanted _me_ to jump you, I hear people when they speak.”

Right. He _did_ say that.

“Then you’re more than welcome to go ahead,” he says, hooking his legs behind her back, his cock pressing against her crotch, and he moans into her mouth the moment she slams her lips against his, hard enough that his head hits the wall again, but not hard enough to hurt and honestly, he can feel all the pent-up frustration she has in her, same as _his_ own, to be honest.

Then he glances over her shoulder, and —

 _Oh_.

“Hey,” he says as they part for air, “look behind you.”

She does, still holding him up, and notices the deck chair with a nearby table in the middle of the roof. “I’m seeing that,” she replies.

“Our friend Selyse owns the roof. Well, it came with the house, so technically she only does because she got the house after the divorce, but that deck chair is _hers_ , and it’s _just_ above the meeting room,” he grins.

Brienne slowly, slowly grins back. “Oh, I see,” she says.

“So do you plan to do anything about it?”

She seems to have forgotten any shyness she might have had before as she moves him back from the wall, drags him to the damned chair and lets him fall on it way less harshly than anyone else might have. It’s a large enough chair that it can hold him no problem — she takes a good look at him in it, and then shakes his head, says _fuck it_ under her breath and moves her knees on his thigh’s sides, slamming her mouth against his again.

The chair creaks as he kisses back, his hand grasping at her hair, groaning as her own hands get rid of his belt and open up his jeans, _good_ because he was starting to get much more than bothered here —

“I imagine you don’t have condoms with you, huh?” She asks a moment later, tearing her mouth from his.

“… Well, _no_ , I don’t usually go to the tenants’s meeting hoping to hook up with anyone. I mean, have you _seen_ most of them?”

She laughs at that, her eyes looking somehow brighter in the starlight. “Fair,” she says, “the only one that could seriously be considered is Tully, but I feel he’s taken and he wouldn’t be into me anyway.”

“Too bad I’m not into guys,” Jaime snorts, “but yeah, my point exactly.” He clears his throat. “Well, uh, just so you know, I haven’t been with anyone in months and I’m sure I’m clean.”

She looks down at him. “I’m on the pill,” she says, cautiously, and then they look at each other —

“Ah, screw it,” she says, and kisses him again, and he moans into her mouth _again_ as his thighs circle her waist, her large, rough hand wrapping around his dick and stroking it once, twice, just as he says _yes_ and _please_ and _fuck_ every time her lips aren’t covering his, and then she leans back and shrugs off the trousers of her sensible pantsuit before throwing them on the ground — he’s _really_ glad it’s the end of June _and_ it’s hot as hell as she moves back on the chair. He slips a hand inside her legs and groans _loud_ when he realizes she’s wet already, and she about screams when he pushes two fingers inside her once, twice, thrice, until he can feel her clenching around them as her hands pull at his hair more gently than he’d have thought given how hard they’re going at this.

That is, until she moves back and sinks on his dick saying something about needing him in her _already_ , and the chair creaks very, very loudly, but he can’t care less because that was exactly what he was hoping for and she’s wet and tight and warm around him as he meets her movements when she cants her hips downward — he reaches up for her chest, cupping her breasts after moving his hand under her shirt and feeling thankful that she was wearing a sports bra and so he doesn’t have to take it off, and they might be small but when they harden in his hand they fit perfectly against it, and the chair is creaking _hard_ as he buries his head in her chest and she puts an arm around his back, dragging him _closer_ , until she moves back slightly and then back _down_ and it’s too much — he’s coming inside her a moment later, his mouth moving up to search for hers as she clenches around him and kisses him back, _hard_ —

And he _does_ hear the sound of the chair creaking and breaking, but he’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t realize they actually broke the damned thing until they both crash to the ground with a loud noise and his back takes a pretty bad hit, but he’s still so high on his orgasm that he barely notices, until he comes down from it and he _does_.

“Ouch,” he groans, just as he looks up into Brienne’s red, embarrassed face.

“Shit,” she says, sounding way less assured than before, “did we _really_ break it?”

“Seems like we did,” he laughs. “But it was fucking worth it.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she says, immediately putting two and two together and sliding off him before jumping to her feet and helping him up, “you hit your back and I was above you, are you sure you didn’t break nothing?”

“Calm down,” he groans, “there were cushions on that chair. It could’ve been worse. That said,” he adds, figuring that he might catch his chance, “if you’re volunteering to come down to my place and put some ice on it, I won’t be saying no.”

She blinks, looking at him with flushed cheeks — he can see how hard she’s blushing even if they’re outside and it’s dark. “Seriously?”

“Brienne,” he says, “I know we don’t know each other, but _that_ was some magnificent sex and I _could_ have kissed you at that meeting just for having shut up that stuck-up crone. So what if I’m sensing that we could have a _very_ profitable partnership and I’m not the person who likes to waste time?”

“God,” she says, “I can’t believe I actually did _that_ , but I was pissed off,” she says, still blushing. “And — can you believe me if I say this was the only _good_ sex I ever had?”

“… _Excuse me_?” He asks as she reaches down for his jeans and underwear since he can’t exactly bend down right now.

She shrugs. “The first was an asshole in high school who was doing it on a _bet_ and didn’t really let me do anything _to_ him even if I wanted to. Then I’ve been with another asshole I met on a dating app and he said he only ever accepted because he figured I wouldn’t score with anyone else — after the fact, obviously — and then cut off all contacts. Then — I didn’t exactly try to, you know, look for it.”

He just _stares_. “You’re telling me that I was the third guy you’ve been with and the other two just — made you lie down and take it?”

She shrugs. “I _did_ want to do something more, but neither of them looked like they wanted it.”

“So what if I tell you that both those guys were idiots who definitely couldn’t appreciate what was in front of them and I’m entirely down for letting you have your way with me someplace more comfortable?”

She _stares_ at him as if he’s just lost his mind, but then she smiles, not wide but it’s _real_ and it looks absolutely lovely, making her blue eyes look even bluer and _shit,_ he thinks he’s a goner here. “I’m down with it, _after_ I make sure it’s not too badly bruised.”

“How adorable,” he grins back, “you’re even worrying about it?”

“Who _wouldn’t_?”

He thinks of how it took his father two weeks to notice he had broken a wrist once, or of how Cersei had lost it when she learned he was moving out as if she had no idea of _why_ he would do it, then he shakes his head. “It’s not important. Wait a moment,” he says, grabbing his wallet from the back of his jeans. He grabs a hundred quid and leaves them under a rock that was in the middle of the table matching the chair. “So she’s not going to complain,” he says. “And she can think about it next time before pissing off the both of us.”

“You know what,” she says, putting his arm around her shoulders when she notices that he’s never going to make it down the stairs with the state of his back without support, “at the next meeting we should just go together and make the united front since the beginning.”

“As long as it means Selyse will complain because she can hear us from her apartment, I’m game.”

She bursts out laughing as they head downstairs.

“We’ll see,” she says, but she sounds very optimistic about how that might go.

Good.

He’s very, _very_ optimistic about it, too.

And maybe he doesn’t hate the thrice-darned tenants’s meeting so much anymore.

 

End.


End file.
